A circumstance occurred not long before our arrival at Demarara, which,
being somewhat remarkable in its character, furnished a fruitful theme
for conversation and comment. This was the arrival of a vessel from
Cadiz, with only one person on board.
It seems that a Captain Shackford, of Portsmouth, N.H., was the master
and owner of a sloop of some sixty or eighty tons. He proceeded to
Cadiz, and there took in a cargo for Guiana. When on the eve of sailing,
his crew, dissatisfied with some of his proceedings, left the vessel.
Captain Shackford, a resolute but eccentric man, resolved not to be
disappointed in his calculations, or delayed in his voyage by the
desertion of his crew, and boldly put to sea on the day appointed for
sailing, trusting in his own unaided efforts and energies to manage the
vessel on a passage across the ocean of thirty-five hundred miles. He
was seventy-four days on his passage; but brought his vessel into port
in tolerable order, having experienced no difficulty on his way, and
losing only one day of his reckoning.
The arrival of a vessel in Demarara, under such singular circumstances,
caused quite a sensation among the authorities, and gave rise to
suspicions by no means favorable to the character of the captain as an
honest man, and which his long, tangled locks and hirsute countenance
for he had not combed his hair or shaved his face during the passage
tended to confirm. It was thought by some that a mutiny might have
broken out among the crew of the sloop, which resulted in scenes of
violence and bloodshed, and that this wild-looking man was the only
survivor of a desperate struggle between the officers and crew. Indeed,
he looked not unlike a mutineer and murderer.
Captain Shackford was indignant at these suspicions, and would hardly
deign to give explanations. It was fortunate for him that some vessels
belonging to Portsmouth were in the harbor, the captains of which
recognized him as an old acquaintance, and vouched for his character
as an honest, well-meaning man, although at times indulging in strange
freaks, more akin to madness than method. He was released from arrest,
and subsequently disposed of his merchandise at remunerating prices, and
with a cargo of assorted articles, and a crew, sailed for a port in the
United States.
After the cargo of the Dolphin was discharged, preparations were made
for receiving a return cargo, to consist principally of molasses.
The process of taking in and stowing a cargo of this description is a
peculiar one; and as I shall recur to this subject hereafter, I avail
myself of this opportunity to describe, briefly, the mode of operation.
The empty casks are carefully stowed in the hold, with small pieces of
board between the quarter-hoops of each cask, so that the bilge of a
cask shall touch no other substance whatever. The bungholes must also
be uppermost; thus, in the brief but expressive language of commerce,
"every cask must be bung up and bilge free." A "molasses hose" is then
procured, consisting of a half barrel with a hole in the bottom, to
which is attached a leathern hose an inch and a half in diameter, and
long enough to reach to the most distant part of the hold. A hogshead
filled with molasses is then hoisted over the hatchway, hung down, and
the hose-tub is placed directly beneath; the bung is taken out, and the
molasses passes through the hose to any cask in the hold that may be
wished. When the cask is filled the hose is shifted to another, and in
this way the casks are all filled and the cargo stowed. The process
is tedious; and although a sweet, by no means a pleasant one, to those
engaged in it.
It may be imagined that the crew, after working all day among molasses
in that hot climate, should wish to bathe in the evening; and the
river alongside, although the element was neither pure nor transparent,
offered, at high or low water, a tempting opportunity. To the very
natural and proper inquiry whether the harbor of Demarara was infested
with sharks a man-eating shark not being the most desirable "companion
of the bath" we were told that a shark had never been seen in the harbor;
that the river water, being turbid and fresher than the ocean water,
was offensive to that much dreaded animal, which delights in the clear
waters of the salt sea. We were further told that up the river, in the
creeks and pools which abound in that region, alligators were met with
in large numbers; some of them of large size, and had been known to
attack a man in the water; but they never ventured down the river among
the shipping.
The reports being thus favorable, the crew of the Dolphin, being good
swimmers, were indeed, whenever it was "slack water" of an evening,
to take a swim in the river; and the crews of other American vessels
followed the example. One evening, at twilight, there were swimming
about and sporting in the water, deriving the highest enjoyment from
this healthy and refreshing exercise, some fifteen or twenty American
sailors. On the following day an incident occurred, which operated as an
impressive warning against bathing in the waters of the Demarara.
On the afternoon of that day, a sailor at work on the mizzen-topsail
yard of an English ship moored within the distance of a cable's length
from the Dolphin, accidentally fell from the yard. As he fell he caught
hold of the main brace, and was suspended for a minute over the water.
There was quite a commotion on the deck of the ship, which attracted
the attention of the crews of neighboring vessels. On hearing the
distressing cry of the man, and witnessing the tumult on board the
ship, the crew of the Dolphin ran to the side of the brig and gazed with
interest on the scene.
The poor fellow was unable to retain his hold of the rope until he could
receive assistance. He fell into the water alongside, but rose to the
surface almost immediately, and being, apparently, a good swimmer,
struck out vigorously towards the ship. Some of his shipmates jumped
into the boat to pick him up, as, notwithstanding his exertions, he
was swept away by the tide; but none of the lookers-on apprehended any
danger.
While we were intently watching the result, the unfortunate man gave
a shrill and piercing shriek; and we then saw by the commotion in the
water, and the appearance of a large fin above the surface, that a shark
had seized the unlucky sailor, which caused him to give utterance to
that dreadful cry. He immediately sank with his prey, and the muddy
state of the water prevented the ruthless monster or his victim from
being seen.
We were still gazing on the spot where this fearful tragedy was enacted,
transfixed and mute with horror, when the shark again rose to the
surface, bearing in his jaws the lifeless body of the English sailor;
and for a brief period we beheld the voracious fish devouring his human
food.
The cargo of the Dolphin being completed, there ensued the usual bustle
and confusion in making preparations for sea. Owing to the lateness of
the season, Captain Tilton was unwilling to encounter the storms of
the New England coast in a vessel hardly seaworthy, and expressed an
intention to proceed to Charleston, in South Carolina.
About a week before we left Demarara a small English brig-of-war arrived
in the harbor, causing much consternation among the sailors, and not
without reason. The brig was deficient in her complement of men, and
this deficiency was supplied by impressment from crews of British
vessels in port. The commander was a young man, who in common with most
of the British naval officers of that day, had an exalted opinion of his
dignity and importance, and held the Yankees in contempt.
The pennant at the main is a distinguishing mark of a man-of-war, and
it was considered disrespectful on the part of the master of a merchant
vessel to wear a pennant in the presence of a cruiser. But on the Sunday
following the arrival of the gun brig the captain of a fine-looking
American brig, who did not entertain that respect for John Bull which
the representatives of that dignitary were disposed to exact, hoisted
his colors, as usual, on the Sabbath. He did not confine his display of
bunting to the ensign at the peak, a burgee studded with stars at
the fore, and a jack on the bowsprit, but ran up a pennant of most
preposterous length at the main, which proudly flaunted in the breeze,
as if bidding defiance to the Englishman.
The young naval commander foolishly allowed himself to be annoyed by
this proceeding on the part of the Yankee, and resolved to administer an
appropriate rebuke. He sent an officer alongside the American brig, who,
in a peremptory tone, told the mate to cause that Yankee pennant to be
hauled down immediately.
The captain, hearing of the mandate, made his appearance on deck; and
on a repetition of the order from the officer, exhibited unequivocal
symptoms of a choleric temper. After letting off a little of his
exuberant wrath, he declared with emphasis that he had a RIGHT to wear
a pennant, and WOULD wear it in spite of all the officers in the British
navy.
The midshipman, finding it of no avail to continue the parley, told
his cockswain to go aloft and "dowse the pennant and leave it in the
cross-trees." This was done, regardless of the protest of the captain,
and his threats to lay the subject before the government and make it a
national matter. The boat had hardly reached the man-of-war, when the
pennant was again flying on board the American brig, and seemed to wave
more proudly than before.
The man-of-war's boat was sent back, and some sharp words were exchanged
between the British officer and the Yankee captain; but the former,
possessing superior physical force, was triumphant. The pennant was
again hauled down, but this time it was not left in the cross-trees. The
cockswain took it with him and it was carried on board the English brig,
in spite of the denunciation hurled against men-of-war's men, in which
the epithets "thieves," "robbers," and "pirates," were distinctly heard.
A few nights after the above-mentioned occurrence we received an
unexpected addition to the number of our crew. It was about an hour
after midnight, when the man who had the watch on deck was comfortably
seated on a coil of rope beneath the main deck awning, and probably
dozing, while sheltered from a heavy and protracted shower of rain. The
night was dark and gloomy; the ebb tide made a moaning, monotonous noise
under the bows, and rushed swiftly by the sides of the vessel, leaving
a broad wake astern. The sailor was roused from his comfortable position
by a sound resembling the cry of a person in distress. He started to his
feet, and stepped out from beneath the awning. He listened, and again
distinctly heard the cry, which seemed to come from the water under
the bows. Supposing it might proceed from some person who had fallen
overboard and wanted help, he went forward to the knight-heads, and
called out, "Who's there?"
A voice from below the bowsprit faintly replied, "Shipmate, for God's
sake bear a hand, and give me help. I can hold on but a few minutes
longer."
He was now aware that a man, in an exhausted condition, was clinging
to the cable, and required immediate assistance. He called up his
shipmates, and with little difficulty they succeeded in hauling him
safely on board. He proved to be a fine-looking English sailor; and as
soon as he recovered strength enough to converse, explained the cause of
his perilous situation.
He belonged to the brig-of-war, which was lying at anchor about half a
mile above. He had been impressed two years before; and being treated
with cruelty and harshness, had been eagerly watching an opportunity to
escape from his inhuman bondage. At length he formed a plan with one
of his messmates, to slip overboard quietly the first dark night, and
relying on skill in swimming, attempt to reach some vessel at anchor in
the harbor.
The plan was carried into effect. They succeeded in eluding the
vigilance of the sentries, dropped gently into the water, and were
soon floating astern. But their situation was one of extreme peril.
The current was stronger than they anticipated, and the darkness of the
night prevented them from distinguishing any vessel in time to get on
board. As soon as they were swept out of hearing of the man-of-war, they
shouted loudly for help; but the murmuring of the tide, the pattering of
the rain, and the howling of the wind prevented their voices from
being heard, as, notwithstanding their exertions to stem the tide, they
floated rapidly down the river towards the bar.
What risks will a man encounter to secure his liberty! It was not long
before these friends separated, never to meet again. One of them sank
beneath the waters. The other had given up all expectation of being
rescued, when he beheld an object, darker than the murky atmosphere
by which it was surrounded, rising, as it appeared to him, out of the
water. His heart beat quicker within his bosom. In a moment more he
had seized the cable of the Dolphin, and shouted for help. This man was
grateful for the succor he had received, and expressed a wish to work
his passage to the United States. To this suggestion Captain Tilton
offered no objection, and he subsequently proved to be one of the best
men on board.
That very morning the black pilot made his appearance, grinning as he
thrust his dark muzzle over the gunwale. He was greeted with answering
smiles, for we were "homeward bound," and all hands cheerfully commenced
heaving up the anchor and making sail. With a favorable breeze and an
ebb tide we soon passed the bar, and entered upon the broad ocean. The
fresh trade wind was welcome after sweltering for weeks in the sultry
and unwholesome atmosphere of Demarara; and the clear and pellucid
waters of the ocean bore a cheerful aspect, contrasted with the thick
and opaque waters of the river in which we had remained several weeks at
anchor.
Nothing remarkable occurred during the homeward passage, until we
reached the Gulf Stream, that extraordinary current, sixty or seventy
miles in width, and many degrees warmer than the ocean water on either
side, and which reaches from the Gulf of Florida to the Shoals of
Nantucket. There can be no doubt that this current of the Gulf Stream
is owing to the trade winds in the tropical seas, which, blowing at
all times from the eastward, drive a large body of water towards the
American continent. Vessels bound to India invariably meet with a strong
westerly current within the tropics, and particularly in the vicinity
of the equator. This volume of water is thus forced along the shores of
Brazil and Guiana, until it enters the Caribbean Sea, from which it
has no outlet excepting through the strait bounded by Cape Catouche in
Yucatan, on one side, and Cape St. Antonio, in Cuba, on the other.
Through this strait, after a strong trade wind has been blowing for a
time, the current sets into the Gulf of Mexico at the rate of two or
three knots an hour. Here the waters of the tropical seas are mingled
with the waters of the Mississippi, the Balize, the Rio Grande, the
Colorado, the Alabama, and other large streams which empty into the Gulf
of Mexico; and turning off to the eastward, this body of water is driven
along between the coasts of Cuba and Florida until it strikes the Salt
Key Bank and the Bahamas, when it receives another considerable addition
from the currents, which, from the same causes, are continually setting
west through the Old Bahama and New Providence Channels. It is then
forced northward along the coast of Florida and the Middle States. The
stream becomes wider as it extends north, diminishes its velocity, and
gradually changes its temperature, until it strikes the shoals south
of Nantucket and the Bank of St. George, when it branches off to the
eastward, washes the southern edge of the Bank of Newfoundland, and
a portion of it is lost in the ocean between the Western and Canary
Islands; and another portion, sweeping to the southward past the Cape
de Verdes, is again impelled to the westward across the Atlantic, and
performs its regular round.
The current always moving in the same circuitous track, forms, according
to Mr. Maury, to whose scientific labors the commercial world is deeply
indebted, an IMMENSE WHIRLPOOL, whose circuit embraces the whole North
Atlantic Ocean. In the centre of the whirl is a quiet spot, equal in
extent of area to the whole Mississippi valley, unaffected by currents
of any kind. And here, as a matter of course, the greater part of the
gulf-weed and other floating materials, which are carried round by the
current, is eventually deposited. This is the "Sargasso Sea" of the
ancients. Columbus crossed this "weedy sea" on his quest after a western
passage to India. And the singular appearance of the ocean, thickly
matted over with gulf-weed, caused great alarm among his companions, who
thought they had reached the limits of navigation.
A current of a character similar to the Gulf Stream only not so strong
is experienced along the east coast of Africa, from Mozambique to the
Lagullas Bank, off the Cape of Good Hope. This current is undoubtedly
caused by the trade wind forcing the water towards the coast of Africa.
But in this case it is not driven into a narrow passage, like the Gulf
of Florida, which would greatly increase its velocity. The temperature
of the water in the current off the Cape of Good Hope is also several
degrees higher than the ocean waters in the neighborhood of the current.
On the afternoon on which we entered the Gulf Stream the wind hauled
suddenly to the eastward, and the heavens were obscured by clouds. The
breeze also increased, and the sea became rough, causing the brig to
assume various unseemly attitudes, and perform gymnastic exercises
wonderful to behold. As the wind increased and the sea became more
turbulent, the Dolphin tumbled about like an elephant dancing a
hornpipe, insomuch that it was difficult for a person to keep his
perpendicular. Indeed, as I was passing along from the camboose to the
cabin, with a plate of toast in one hand and a teapot in the other, the
brig took a lee lurch without giving notice of her intention, and sent
me with tremendous force across the deck, to leeward, where I brought up
against the sail. But the tea and toast were ejected from my hands into
the sea, and I never saw them more.
At twilight, Captain Tilton came on deck, and looking around the
horizon, said, addressing the mate, "Mr. Thompson, the weather
looks GREASY to windward; I fear a gale is brewing. You may find the
top-gallant sail and jib, and take a reef in the mainsail."
This work was soon accomplished. The captain's prediction was verified;
for the wind continued to increase, accompanied with fine drizzling
rain, until about nine o'clock, when orders were given to take another
reef in the mainsail, and double reef the fore-topsail. It was not long
before the wind swept across the waves with almost resistless force,
when it was found necessary to strip the brig of all canvas, excepting a
storm main-staysail and close-reefed fore-topsail; the yards were braced
up, the helm lashed a-lee, and the brig was laid to.
The gale continued unabated all night. Our vessel rolled heavily to
leeward, and strained considerably, her bulkheads groaning and her
seams opening, making it necessary to keep one of the pumps in constant
operation. As soon as it was daylight I went on deck, anxious to witness
a spectacle I had often heard described A GALE OF WIND AT SEA and it
wonder and admiration. The wind, blowing furiously, whistled
wildly among the rigging; the waves of alarming size and threatening
appearance, came rushing in swift succession towards us, as if eager to
overwhelm our puny bark, which nevertheless floated unharmed, now riding
on the crest of a wave, and anon plunging into a deep and angry-looking
gulf, taking no water on deck, excepting from an occasional spray.
I asked one of the sailors who had just taken a spell at the pump, if
this were not a hurricane.
"Hurricane!" said he, with a good-natured grin. "Nonsense! This is only
a stiff breeze. 'Tis as different from a hurricane as a heaver is from
a handspike. When you see a hurricane, my lad, you will know it, even if
the name is not lettered on the starn."
"Then I suppose there is no actual danger in a gale like this, although
it does not look very inviting."
"Danger! I don't know about that. In a good seaworthy vessel a man is as
SAFE in a gale of wind as if he was cooped up in a grog-selling boarding
house on shore; and a thousand times better off in other respects. But
this miserable old craft is strained in every timber, and takes in more
water through the seams in her bottom than 'the combers' toss on her
decks. If her bottom does not drop out some of these odd times, and
leave us in the lurch, we may think ourselves lucky."
After uttering these consolatory remarks, accompanied with a significant
shrug, he resumed his labors at the pump.
The wind blew with violence through the day, and the leak kept
increasing. There is probably no exercise more fatiguing than "pumping
ship," as practised with the clumsy, awkward contrivances called PUMPS,
which were generally in use among the merchant vessels of those days. It
being necessary to keep the pumps in constant operation, or in nautical
parlance, "pump or sink," the crew, although a hardy, vigorous set of
men, became exhausted and disheartened, and, to my astonishment and
disgust, instead of manifesting by their solemn looks and devout
demeanor a sense of the danger with which they were threatened,
alternately pumped, grumbled, and swore, and swore, grumbled, and
pumped.
Change is incident to every thing; and even a gale of wind cannot last
forever. Before night the tempest was hushed, the waves diminished,
and in a few hours the brig was under full sail, jogging along to
the westward at the rate of six or seven knots. The next day we got
soundings on the coast of Carolina, and, with a fair wind, rapidly
approached the land.
Off the mouth of the bay which forms the harbor of Charleston extends
a long line of shoals, on which the breakers are continually dashing.
These shoals are intersected by narrow channels, through which vessels
of moderate draught may pass at high water with a smooth sea. The
principal channel, or main passage, for ships over the bar is narrow,
and never attempted without a pilot. About three miles from the bar is
the lighthouse, which stands on a low, sandy shore. Indeed, the whole
coast is low and sandy, abounding in mosquitoes, sandflies, and oysters.
Inside the bar there is good anchorage, but the tide at certain periods
ebbs and flows with great velocity.
We crossed the bar, and, without anchoring, proceeded to the city. We
passed Sullivan's Island on the right a long, low, sandy island, which
is the summer residence of many of the inhabitants of Charleston. On
this island Fort Moultrie is situated, which commands the passage to the
city, about four miles distant. This fort proved an awkward obstacle to
the capture of Charleston, when that feat was rashly attempted by Sir
Peter Parker, during the revolutionary war.
On all the surrounding objects I gazed with a deep and intense interest,
which was not relaxed until the Dolphin dropped anchor off the wharves
of this celebrated city.